


Penance

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Solas is Fen'Harel (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 02:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The first five kisses, in the beginning...And the last kiss, after the end.





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> For [this three-year-old prompt](https://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15543.html?thread=61587895#t61587895) on the kink meme.

# 1.

The first time Dorian kissed him, it was a traditional Tevene apology, one that Solas had not ever witnessed except in the Fade. He caught Solas by surprise on the stair, catching at his hand before he could walk higher, and fell to his knees a few steps down from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, in the common tongue, staring up at him, and Solas froze in surprise, his lips parting, too surprised to tug his hand away. Dorian’s gaze was concentrated and earnest, his eyes wide, even as he grabbed for Solas’ other hand, clutching at them both and holding them together. Solas knew what he was sorry for. Solas had scarcely spoken a word to him in the field, after he had made his comment about finding _common ground_. “About my comments before, Solas, I only—"

“Get up,” Solas said, remembering a time when people too often prostrated themselves on their knees before him, feeling indignant, discomfited heat rise in his cheeks. There was a Solas, long ago, arrogant and tall and biting, who might have delighted at having an earnest noble supplicating on his knees, begging forgiveness.

That was a Solas long dead.

“Me poenitet,” Dorian said. “I’m sorry.” Dorian pressed his mouth to the place where the backs of Solas’ hands met, kissing the two knuckles of his index fingers, and Solas swore, dragging back his hands. Dorian kept a grip on him only for a second before he released him.

“You embarrass yourself,” Solas said.

“I already did that,” Dorian murmured. “Can’t this be my penance?”

Solas turned away from him, and made his way up the stairs.

# 2.

The second time was over research.

They had been settled together in the library for some time, doing their best to work through the translation of a complicated mathematical cipher. It kept referencing other equations, ones that Dorian recognised at a glance, as carefully studied as they were by Tevinter mages, but he kept handing the actual mathematical work back to Solas.

“Felix is a supremely gifted mathematician,” he said, almost absently. “He could never do magic, but he made a magic all of his own with numbers. I never had the head for it.”

“You were close with him, then?” Solas asked, glancing up from his work, and Dorian nodded his head. He was sitting very close to Solas, the two of them at one end of the desk, a half-dozen books open in front of him. Solas could smell his sultry, sandalwood cologne.

“He was always so kind to me,” Dorian murmured. “By all rights, perhaps he ought have been angry or jealous, the usurper taking up the education he would have had himself, had he only had magic… He never seemed to resent sharing his father with me.”

“You saw him as a father figure, then?” Solas asked, unable to resist his own curiosity.

Dorian met his gaze. “No,” he said.

The silence was thick with tension, building between the two of them as though it were stoked on by the magic either of them had, and when Dorian leaned forward, Solas did not pull away, did not lean back. He stood his ground, and when Dorian closed the gap between them and kissed him on the mouth, he felt his eyes shut.

Dorian’s mouth was warm, soft. Solas tasted the wine they were sharing on his lips.

“Do you think me so awful?” Dorian asked.

“I don’t believe I have ever called you awful,” Solas replied.

# 3.

The third time Dorian pulled him into the alcove of one of the downstairs corridors, shoved Solas up against the wall and pressed kisses to his face: Solas’ nose, his brow, his cheeks, his chin. Solas couldn’t help the ticklish laughter that erupted from his throat, catching Dorian by the shoulders, his thumbs against the base of his throat, pinning him to the other wall.

“What are you doing?” Solas asked, through a hurried exhale. His skin felt hot, and he fought the desire to press his body to Dorian’s.

“It’s rather difficult to explain,” Dorian purred, smiling. He had such white teeth. “Mind if I show you, instead?”

“I have work to do.”

“So do I!”

“This is work?”

“My hard day’s toil, Solas!” Dorian entreated, smiling as though he had starlight in his eyes, and when Solas released him, more kisses were bestowed on him, upon his forehead, the sides of his jaw, his ears, his shoulders—

“Stop,” Solas said, when Dorian kissed the flat rectangle of his sternum through his shirt. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s called affection,” Dorian said. “Haven’t you heard of it?”

“Distantly, spoken of in hushed tones,” Solas said, and Dorian laughed softly. He was handsome when he laughed. Handsome – distinctly human. Solas stared at him, and knew that he ought prevent this from going any further, that he ought stop Dorian before he became attached, _more_ attached… “I do have work to do.”

“Fine,” Dorian said, pulling him from the alcove by his wrist: he kissed Solas’ palm, and Solas had to suppress a sigh as Dorian dropped his arm, stepping away from him. Solas watched after him as he walked away, and felt the ghost of Dorian’s lips on his skin.

# 4

The fourth time, Dorian pinned him to the ground as soon as they were alone in their tent together, scrambling for the fastening on Solas’ tunic as he pressed greedy, desperate kisses to the column of Solas’ neck. They were open-mouthed and wanting, as though he were desperate to taste Solas’ skin, and Solas could not resist winding his hands in Dorian’s hair, pulling him closer.

“I want to kiss you from head to toe,” Dorian said breathlessly.

“Do you hear me objecting?” Solas asked, and Dorian laughed, surging up to kiss him on the mouth.

# 5

The fifth time…

Dorian was watching him. They were playing Wicked Grace in the cellar with Varric, Blackwall, Cullen, and Josephine, and Dorian kept glancing at him. Things were different, in Tevinter. One did not kiss one’s male partner before an audience. One did not admit to the transgression of wanting another man, of lying with him, of desiring him.

This was not so, in Skyhold.

Men kissed one another; women kissed one another. Two men or two women might even be bound in matrimony.

Was this what Dorian was thinking, when he watched Solas, with that look in his eyes, as though he scarcely wanted to admit to himself who he was watching? These furtive glances, what did they represent? An ache, a want, for Solas to touch him? To reach out, perhaps, and touch Solas?

Solas oughtn’t encourage it.

It was one thing, to enjoy the warmth of Dorian in his bed, to take from him what pleasure he might find: he oughtn’t let himself think of what Dorian would feel, later, what he would think. He oughtn’t. He _oughtn’t_.

“I will retrieve more wine,” Solas said, getting to his feet.

“How many bottles?” Dorian asked.

Solas leaned, feeling the uncertainty in his chest, the knowledge that all would change, but when? How soon? He leaned in, brushed his lips against Dorian’s cheek, heard Dorian _gasp_. “One,” he said, patting the other cheek, and he pulled away to move to the cellar.

Behind him, he heard Varric say, “What was _that_, Sparkler?”

“Do be quiet, Varric,” Dorian replied.

Solas lost count of the kisses that came after that night.

# +1

Dorian was breathing heavily.

He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were watering at their edges, and he was shaking as he looked at Solas. Solas stepped closer, slowly, and Dorian, to his credit, did not flinch away. He stood his ground, shaking visibly, until Solas stood directly before him.

“I won’t hurt you,” Solas murmured.

“Any further, you mean?” Dorian asked, his voice cracking with a sharp note to it. “You— You _bastard_. You awful _bastard_.”

Dorian’s hands twitched at his sides, as though he were going to lift them up, to touch him – Solas remembered Dorian pinning him against a wall, laying kisses all over him… Solas reached up, touching Dorian’s cheek.

“What now?” Dorian demanded, doing his best to look defiant as he looked Solas in the eyes, but his own were watering. One tear was threatening to break free and streak down his cheek.

“Now,” Solas said softly, “you go back.”

“That’s it?” Dorian demanded, breathing heavily, his hands clenched at his sides. “Is that _it_?”

Solas curled his hand more tightly against Dorian’s cheek and pulled him closer, pressed his lips to Dorian’s and heard Dorian’s _sob_ against his mouth, but he didn’t pull away. Dorian threw his arms around Solas’ neck and kissed him back, kissed him hard, desperately, hungrily, as if he knew what Solas was going to do to him.

The magic surged as he pushed Dorian back from him, and he felt Dorian’s fingers grasp at his tunic—

And then he fell through the tear in the rift behind him, dropping him back in Orlais, his fingers still grasping. The tear closed. Solas touched his own lips, tasting the lingering phantom of peppermint on his tongue.

“Me poenitet,” Solas murmured, to the empty air, to the fingers still touched against his lower lip. He wondered what it would have been like, to kiss the back of Dorian’s folded hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq). I also run a no-drama Dragon Age Discord, which [you can join here.](https://discordapp.com/invite/ttgP5v8) Please comment if you can!


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